TIMESTAMP: Earth's Rest 10, Ash 122
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NOTES: -
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Every day that passed since meeting Dæmon, who he now knew to be Arcas, the starborn Fæ couldn't decide whether or not he was glad to be alive. Some days, he found himself desperately wishing that he had perished, bled to death out in the wilds. Others, he felt marked determination to do better, to be better. Of late, the wish for death was encroaching upon him again, that renewed lust for life had begun to wane, the heat of the flames fading into cinders.
This fact made him feel immensely guilty. Selfish desires aside, Æros had begun to realize that his fate would actually affect people around him, people he cared about. Out of every new friend he had met, he could think of two distinct faces that would be deeply troubled if he gave up. Beyond those two, he had finally woken up to the fact that outside of choice hostile individuals, there were several relatives of his that genuinely wished him well and believed in him.
So much so that one of them, the very head of his house, had extended his grace unto him and gone as far as offering Æros the ability to serve as his proxy in the senate. To squander such an opportunity was a painful thought…but he was so marred with internal conflict that he wondered if he shouldn't just disappear lest he embarrass his house further. He'd already embarrassed himself multiple times over– in front of others, in front of one of the very Founders themselves. It was hard not to think that he would just make everything worse.
The familiar weight of crushing despair had returned in place of his apathy. It crept into everything he did, into every interaction. It siphoned away his enthusiasm, even so far as dimming his excitement for his newly acquired rune. Any time his thoughts drifted back to that incident with Varvara, he felt almost sick.
Looking back at his actions objectively, one could understand why it was that a young man in his circumstances would have acted the way that he had. Æros was…deeply troubled, rarely sober, struggled to regulate his emotions in the moment, and, at the time, didn't believe he had a future, so the far reaching consequences of his words had been lost on him. It was not as if these missteps hadn't taught him anything, but learning from his mistakes ultimately meant precious little to him.
Æros felt as if he'd already faltered so gravely that he'd squandered what opportunities had been granted to him as well as the potential for similar such things in the future. He had been shown so little empathy that he simply did not see the possibility of being granted anything similar in the future. Whether or not this was at all true, he had no idea, but in his current mindspace, the elf had very little hope for himself to remedy the damage he'd done.
Aimless, almost, he found himself feeling dazed most of the time. Familiar, choking vines of anxiety gripped the man about a great many things of late. He'd promised his lover to go through with buying out his contract. He promised his friends he would endeavor to take strides and put effort into taking care of himself. He'd accepted his uncle's offer of his seat on the senate. One would imagine that with all of these things, his future was looking really rather bright. And perhaps that really was the case, but in his mind, everything was shrouded in a thick, shadowy fog.
Nevertheless, he'd made all these promises– he fully intended to keep all of them, no matter how bad he felt. And through endeavoring to do so, he hoped that this dark tide of thought would wane.
For the moment, Æros sat within a bar he knew well. Though it was not one he'd ever performed in, it was a typical place for him to be found all the same. He wanted the comfort of a familiar sort of milieu without having to speak with anyone who would poke at him about his current state of mind, if at all. Really, he came here because he wanted to be alone in a crowd. The more people around, the less likely it would be that he'd be singled out and bothered, or so he thought.
It would also be the perfect setting for him to indulge in his vices whilst also doing something at least semi-productive. In an attempt to not be a total disappointment to everyone who cared for him, the elven Færie intended to try and further push his ability to use the new Craft he'd been so lovingly granted. At least, he would certainly endeavor to do so until the alcohol made it exceedingly difficult for him to focus his æther through the rune.
Given the fact that many in Solunarium possessed runes of their own to varying degrees of skill, it was somewhat of a risk for him to Semble people at random as a novice. That being the case, he had opened himself up to the Symphonies of those around him. Anyone whose song was muted or silent, he would avoid looking at entirely. This indicated they were strong mages themselves or that they had some sort of magical protection– either way, Sembling such individuals would be pointless at best and precarious at worst.
To start, however, he chose the simplest, safest option: gazing at runeforged, magical items. He'd chosen this particular location in part due to the fact that such things were so commonplace that the vast majority of the decor had some degree of arcane tampering. That being the case, most runeforging done for the purpose of aesthetics was all, apparently, crafted with very similar methodology. Masquerade was heavily employed to create the visual illusion, no matter how complex, and then runeforging was used to bind the magic to whatever the chosen object was.
The primary difference between pieces, he noted, was that if one wanted to weave in a more complex illusion, then the magic employed was also quite a bit more complex in turn. He imagined that some of the more simple things could've been made by a mage newer to Masquerade, but everything here appeared to have been made by artisans of consummate skill in their respective Crafts. All of the work was efficient and finely done, a fact that he found all the more pleasant to look at now that he could see beneath the surface. Æros found himself grimacing at the thought of how messy something made by somebody of much worse skill would actually present as.
No matter how different the result ended up being, the process by which most of the things he'd thus far looked at were constructed was so similar that Æros found his gaze very quickly wandering off of such things and onto the structure of the building itself around him. There was some risk in doing this in that if he were to spot flaws in foundation or construction, he might incite undue paranoia within himself. Luckily, that was not actually the case here. The architecture was well designed in and of itself and then whomever was employed to build it did each of their respective jobs well. The one thing that did surprise him, however, was the fact that the building itself had a lot more additional space both above and below him that he was very much unaware of the purpose thereof. The overall structure was far larger than he had initially imagined.
It had taken him quite a bit of time to slowly pore over the different walls of the building and find all this extra space, what with his current field of vision for doing so being incredibly limited. As such, beyond the fact that there was a large amount of it, Æros was unable to discern what it was used for or even if there were presently other people making use of it. He was aware that a Sembler of higher skill would be able to see this information, but alas…he was not quite there yet. Trying to focus on anything but the building's architecture at the same time was not something he could do, and when he tried, the strain of pushing his æther beyond its current capabilities was really rather unpleasant. As such, he opted to not push himself and shift his gaze ever elsewhere once more. His curiosity would have to remain unsated about whatever all this extra space was for, though perhaps later he'd come back and look again with a far more piercing gaze.
Without any degree of purpose, eyes of black-gold drifted languidly over the flow of people that currently shifted about the bar he was in. It was a shame that the most interesting of individuals were resistant to the touch of his Mesmer; to him, this indicated that they would also resist that of his much weaker Semblance. Sure, it was not lost on him why this was, but it nonetheless vexed him, nosy as he was. So private, people tended to be. How very boring.
This fact made him feel immensely guilty. Selfish desires aside, Æros had begun to realize that his fate would actually affect people around him, people he cared about. Out of every new friend he had met, he could think of two distinct faces that would be deeply troubled if he gave up. Beyond those two, he had finally woken up to the fact that outside of choice hostile individuals, there were several relatives of his that genuinely wished him well and believed in him.
So much so that one of them, the very head of his house, had extended his grace unto him and gone as far as offering Æros the ability to serve as his proxy in the senate. To squander such an opportunity was a painful thought…but he was so marred with internal conflict that he wondered if he shouldn't just disappear lest he embarrass his house further. He'd already embarrassed himself multiple times over– in front of others, in front of one of the very Founders themselves. It was hard not to think that he would just make everything worse.
The familiar weight of crushing despair had returned in place of his apathy. It crept into everything he did, into every interaction. It siphoned away his enthusiasm, even so far as dimming his excitement for his newly acquired rune. Any time his thoughts drifted back to that incident with Varvara, he felt almost sick.
Looking back at his actions objectively, one could understand why it was that a young man in his circumstances would have acted the way that he had. Æros was…deeply troubled, rarely sober, struggled to regulate his emotions in the moment, and, at the time, didn't believe he had a future, so the far reaching consequences of his words had been lost on him. It was not as if these missteps hadn't taught him anything, but learning from his mistakes ultimately meant precious little to him.
Æros felt as if he'd already faltered so gravely that he'd squandered what opportunities had been granted to him as well as the potential for similar such things in the future. He had been shown so little empathy that he simply did not see the possibility of being granted anything similar in the future. Whether or not this was at all true, he had no idea, but in his current mindspace, the elf had very little hope for himself to remedy the damage he'd done.
Aimless, almost, he found himself feeling dazed most of the time. Familiar, choking vines of anxiety gripped the man about a great many things of late. He'd promised his lover to go through with buying out his contract. He promised his friends he would endeavor to take strides and put effort into taking care of himself. He'd accepted his uncle's offer of his seat on the senate. One would imagine that with all of these things, his future was looking really rather bright. And perhaps that really was the case, but in his mind, everything was shrouded in a thick, shadowy fog.
Nevertheless, he'd made all these promises– he fully intended to keep all of them, no matter how bad he felt. And through endeavoring to do so, he hoped that this dark tide of thought would wane.
For the moment, Æros sat within a bar he knew well. Though it was not one he'd ever performed in, it was a typical place for him to be found all the same. He wanted the comfort of a familiar sort of milieu without having to speak with anyone who would poke at him about his current state of mind, if at all. Really, he came here because he wanted to be alone in a crowd. The more people around, the less likely it would be that he'd be singled out and bothered, or so he thought.
It would also be the perfect setting for him to indulge in his vices whilst also doing something at least semi-productive. In an attempt to not be a total disappointment to everyone who cared for him, the elven Færie intended to try and further push his ability to use the new Craft he'd been so lovingly granted. At least, he would certainly endeavor to do so until the alcohol made it exceedingly difficult for him to focus his æther through the rune.
Given the fact that many in Solunarium possessed runes of their own to varying degrees of skill, it was somewhat of a risk for him to Semble people at random as a novice. That being the case, he had opened himself up to the Symphonies of those around him. Anyone whose song was muted or silent, he would avoid looking at entirely. This indicated they were strong mages themselves or that they had some sort of magical protection– either way, Sembling such individuals would be pointless at best and precarious at worst.
To start, however, he chose the simplest, safest option: gazing at runeforged, magical items. He'd chosen this particular location in part due to the fact that such things were so commonplace that the vast majority of the decor had some degree of arcane tampering. That being the case, most runeforging done for the purpose of aesthetics was all, apparently, crafted with very similar methodology. Masquerade was heavily employed to create the visual illusion, no matter how complex, and then runeforging was used to bind the magic to whatever the chosen object was.
The primary difference between pieces, he noted, was that if one wanted to weave in a more complex illusion, then the magic employed was also quite a bit more complex in turn. He imagined that some of the more simple things could've been made by a mage newer to Masquerade, but everything here appeared to have been made by artisans of consummate skill in their respective Crafts. All of the work was efficient and finely done, a fact that he found all the more pleasant to look at now that he could see beneath the surface. Æros found himself grimacing at the thought of how messy something made by somebody of much worse skill would actually present as.
No matter how different the result ended up being, the process by which most of the things he'd thus far looked at were constructed was so similar that Æros found his gaze very quickly wandering off of such things and onto the structure of the building itself around him. There was some risk in doing this in that if he were to spot flaws in foundation or construction, he might incite undue paranoia within himself. Luckily, that was not actually the case here. The architecture was well designed in and of itself and then whomever was employed to build it did each of their respective jobs well. The one thing that did surprise him, however, was the fact that the building itself had a lot more additional space both above and below him that he was very much unaware of the purpose thereof. The overall structure was far larger than he had initially imagined.
It had taken him quite a bit of time to slowly pore over the different walls of the building and find all this extra space, what with his current field of vision for doing so being incredibly limited. As such, beyond the fact that there was a large amount of it, Æros was unable to discern what it was used for or even if there were presently other people making use of it. He was aware that a Sembler of higher skill would be able to see this information, but alas…he was not quite there yet. Trying to focus on anything but the building's architecture at the same time was not something he could do, and when he tried, the strain of pushing his æther beyond its current capabilities was really rather unpleasant. As such, he opted to not push himself and shift his gaze ever elsewhere once more. His curiosity would have to remain unsated about whatever all this extra space was for, though perhaps later he'd come back and look again with a far more piercing gaze.
Without any degree of purpose, eyes of black-gold drifted languidly over the flow of people that currently shifted about the bar he was in. It was a shame that the most interesting of individuals were resistant to the touch of his Mesmer; to him, this indicated that they would also resist that of his much weaker Semblance. Sure, it was not lost on him why this was, but it nonetheless vexed him, nosy as he was. So private, people tended to be. How very boring.
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'Thoughts'
"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"
"Vastien Tongue/Speech"
"Valasren Tongue/Speech"
"Common Tongue/Speech"
